New York Heart
by gleeme33
Summary: Unable to support herself, let alone a baby, Shelby Corcoran gives her baby up for adoption, placing her at an orphanage in The Bronx, New York. Feeling her husband is slipping away, and still unable to get pregnant, Terri Schuster comes up with a plan to keep him interested in their little family; she adopts them a daughter of their own: a tough, underprivileged Rachel.
1. Prolog

"_Sixteen years on the streets and you can learn a lot. But all the wrong things, not the things you want to learn. Sixteen years on the streets and you see a lot. But all the wrong sights, not the things you want to see.__" _– S.E. Hinton, _The Outsiders_

_Full Summary_

Rachel Berry was the daughter of Shelby Corcoran, a struggling actress. Unable to support herself, let alone a baby, Shelby gives Rachel up for adoption, placing her at an orphanage in The Bronx, New York, not knowing how little the people there actually take care of the children. Now, a sixteen-year-old Rachel has been hardened by her life on the streets, and forever saddened by the sense of abandonment in her heart.

It is the beginning of sophomore/freshman year for the gang, and Will Schuster has just formed his glee club, New Directions. Feeling her husband is slipping away, and still unable to get pregnant, Terri Schuster, with the help of her sister Kendra, comes up with a plan to keep him interested in their little family; she adopts them a daughter of their own for Will to focus on, a tough, underprivileged Rachel.

As Rachel Schuster learns to adapt to her new life in Lima, she meets the kids in the glee club, spars with head Cheerio Quinn Fabray, and falls for the quarterback, Finn Hudson. But the person she's most interested in is the coach of their rival glee club, Shelby Corcoran, who seems more than interested in her as well. As Rachel gets older and finds out truth after truth, she is faced with a choice: to stay with the divorcing Schuster family, try to find a mother in Shelby, or upon her eighteenth birthday, go back to New York on her own.

_Couples_

Finchel, Quick, possible Welby, Klaine, Brittana, and more may come in later.

_Friendships_

Rachel/Marley (a new character, coming in season four), Rachel/Kurt, Finn/Blaine, and more may come in later

_Prolog_

Shelby was going to be a star. Shelby was _going _to be a lot of things. But right now, Shelby was penniless, evicted from her box of a New York apartment, and had absolutely no plan. She had nowhere to go, and no one to go too. Shelby was going to be a mom – but now, right now, in her depressed, poor, and broken state – she couldn't be much of anything. Shelby made a decision then – she loved the baby growing inside her so fiercely, that she knew that a life without her was the best life that she could give her child. She wanted to give the baby his or her best chance at the best life that he or she could have – and to her complete and total dismay, that life could not include her. It was what was best for her baby. Shelby wanted so many things – she was _going to have _so many things…but now, right now, she couldn't.

It used to be fear – paralyzing, unexplainable _fear_ – but it's grown from that; grown and evolved into something completely different, nearly taking on a life of it's own. Sixteen years after Shelby Corcoran gave her daughter up for adoption, it was clear – this is not the personality that Rachel was born with: it was altered, _changed_. The positive, ever-smiling part of her was gone – washed away in a sea of her environment, pushed down and suffocated in vain of survival. It was gone. As far as anyone knew, it was gone forever. It was as if Rachel's true nature had been shoved onto its side – the happy-go-lucky, upbeat, and even, at times, obnoxious side of her was broken; the determined, never-giving-in, fierce, and brave parts of her came to light. But they, too, were different – used only as tools for survival.

"Shut the fuck up!" One of Marley's attackers yelled. "Shut the _fuck up_!" When she continued to scream, one of them pulled a knife on her. There were four guys, maybe twice her age, surrounding her now as she lay on her back on the hot, gravely pavement. One of them, crouching at her level, held a switchblade to her throat. His black, emotionless eyes met hers for a moment, and Marley knew there was no reasoning with him, or any of them. They had been ridden by the cold numbness of street life to the point of feeling nothing at all.

"Get her!" Another one of her assaulter's yowled from above. A third boy, probably the youngest in the group, got down on the ground with Marley and started hastily stripping her of the little clothes she had. When she tried to struggle in protest, he punched her across the face, and the distance between the blade and her neck grew shorter. They took the one quarter and two pennies that she had in her jeans pocket, and one of them, the fourth one, shoved himself on top of her. Marley tried to scream, but the knife came in contact with her throat, nicking her slightly, and blood dripped now from beneath her chin.

"No good piece of shit," the fourth one cursed, and slugged her once again. "Where's your gang now, little girl? Nowhere, that's where. You're all _alone_. No one can save you now." The boy stripped himself of his tattered jeans, and Marley screamed again.

A few hours later, Rachel found Marley in the back alley: bruised, bleeding, and broken. She was lying there, naked, unable to move from all the blood and pain. Rachel took off her own shirt, and gently draped it over Marley like a towel.

"There w-were four of them," Marley got out through her tears. "Th-there was n-nothing I could d-do…I tried to fight them at first, but…" and her tears broke into hysterical sobs.

"C'mon, Marley," Rachel said softly. "Let's go home."

The orphanage they lived at was run-down to say the least. There were too many kids, not enough beds or food or clothes, and not to mention the people who ran the Chamberlin Co-ed Orphanage in The Bronx, New York cared little about the children, and only about the money they made in this and their other jobs. These factors left Rachel, Marley, and the rest of the boys and girls – ranging in age from about seven to seventeen – to lives on the streets. Lives of gang violence and poverty, lives of hunger and broken souls. Of course, not all parts of The Bronx were like this. Some parts of it were beautiful, uplifting, and full of successful people – but there were some parts, too, that were the opposite. This is where Chamberlin Orphanage was. This is where Rachel was.

Rachel set Marley, who had now fallen asleep in her arms, down the twin-sized bed she shared with three other girls. She sighed deeply. Marley Rose was only fourteen. She had so much of a life she could be living. Marley had become sort of like Rachel's little sister. She didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. Rachel never bonded to anyone – Marley Rose was the only one she felt anything for.

Rachel wasn't the warm, bubbly, sometimes over-zealous girl that she could have been. She was icy, and looked at everyone as someone to fight. She looked at other boys and girls and thought about how she'd match up in a fistfight, or a fight with blades, or a fight with chains, broken bottles…_anything_, against them. She smokes, and drinks, and had dropped out of school. She was only sixteen years old. Rachel sighed yet again. She used to have so many dreams. She walked up to the creaky roof of the Chamberlin Orphanage, and looked out at the street life below her. Down there, she mused, there were tons of kids just like her. Kids who had to grow up too fast. Kids who've been beaten, stabbed, rapped and shot. Kids who used to have so many dreams. Kids just like her.

In Lima, Ohio, William Schuster straightened his tie and poured his coffee, getting ready to start the day.

"So," said Terri, his wife. "I emailed the social service agent, and – "

"Terri," Will started. "Are we sure adoption is the way we want to go? We don't want to keep trying, or maybe give it a break?"

"Give it a break?" Terri echoed. "Give it a _break_? Will, do you have _any idea _what you're saying? We've been working at this for months, and months, and I _want _a child for us!"

"I know, Terri," he responded. "So do I, and it'll happen. I know it will. But you can't rush these things, Terri. It'll happen, okay?"

"Okay," she sighed. "Now to work. A son or daughter requires money."

Will smiled at her, and set off for McKinley High School.

_I'll happen_, he tells himself. _I know it will_.


	2. Nothing Gold Can Stay

**I'm going to quote (and probably reference) S.E. Hinton's **_**The Outsiders **_**a lot in this story. If you haven't read the book, you really should. It's one of my favorites of all time. Thanks and enjoy.**

"_Nature's first green is gold, _

_Her hardest hue to hold. _

_Her early leaf's a flower; _

_But only so an hour. _

_Then leaf subsides to leaf. _

_So Eden sank to grief, _

_So dawn goes down to day. _

_Nothing gold can stay._" – Robert Frost, _Nothing Gold Can Stay_

_Chapter One_

It was _pain_. All of it. The whole world was pain. Burning, icy_ pain_, that took hold of her heart, seized it and crashed into it – paralyzing her. Forsaking her. Abandoning her to the dark world around her. Goodbye, love. Goodbye, dreams. She'd grown up around it her whole life: these dark vines of oppression. She'd seen the kids that had been gripped and trapped and suffocated by them – street-rats, punks, hoods, that would never become anything more than they were now. They'd _die_ this way, she figured, and nothing scared her more. She didn't want to die this way. She didn't want to die a street-rat, or a punk, or a hood. She didn't want to mug people and jump people; to steal and fight to survive – but there was no alternative. She'd never known a different way of life. She had not been clutched by the vines of the dark, numb depression of the street just yet, however, only witnessed it from beyond an invisible barrier – she told herself that she could still dream; she could get out of here, one day; have a life, one day; make something of herself, one day; be a star, one day…

That all changed, one day.

It was December twenty-fourth – Christmas Eve – when a thirteen-year-old Rachel was walking back to the orphanage alone. It was late at night, and she was going to ask one of the boys from her gang to walk with her, but she figured that would show far too much weakness on her part. So, she walked alone, the red, gold and green Christmas lights that hung from the grates and wall pipes of different bodegas were the only light around her. It was so cold that night – Rachel was shivering and could clearly see her breath as she walked. Snow piled up along the sidewalks and alleyways, and new snow was starting to sleepily fall before her brown eyes – they were still considered _brown _then; not black and lifeless, like they are just three years later. She was still a girl, then. Unfazed and unharmed by the life around her. She was still a girl, not a numbed, hard shell that she had become…

Out of nowhere, she was jumped.

There must have been three – no, four – no, _five_, yes, _five _guys surrounding her all of a sudden. In the dark back alley, not even six blocks to Chamberlin Co-ed Orphanage, Rachel was jumped. She was _so close_ to being safe – still unfazed and unharmed. Still just a girl. But she was unlucky, unfortunate, whatever you would call it, because this moment is one that would stay with her forever. The five boys who pushed her up against the cold, metal fence along the alley were much older than she was – well into their twenties – they were what she had always feared becoming. Street-rats, punks, hoods, that would die this way. She was face to face now with her worst fear.

"Hey beautiful," said the first boy, pinning Rachel down against the sharp-metaled fence. His face was so close to hers now, that she could feel his hot, retched breath on her. He eyed her with his black, lifeless eyes as if she were a toy – something to play with, something to be used for amusement. This was fun for the five boys. This was a rush, a buzz, a high. "Ain't she beautiful, Fabio?" The next boy, who must have been Fabio, followed the lead of the first, helping pin her down and getting far to close to Rachel's body for her own comfort.

"Yeah, Axel," said Fabio. "She's _beautiful_. What do you think, Trench?"

"Hard to tell…" Trench, the third boy, responded. "I mean, with all her clothes on. Why don't we take some off?" At his demand, Axel and Fabio began to throw Rachel's clothes off of her, but she kicked and fought them, trying her best to resist.

"Oh," said the fourth boy. "You don't wanna fight us, beautiful…" he pulled a switchblade out of jeans pocket, and held it up to Rachel's throat. "You don't wanna fight, do you?" But still she resisted them to the best of her ability, until Axel and Fabio forced her to the cold, snow-covered ground. They continued to hold her down while she struggled to get free, but it was no use – their strength was too much to fight against.

"Jeb tried to warn you," said the fifth boy, motioning to the fourth. "You don't wanna fight us." He climbed on top of her body and punched her across the face, hard. Her cheek throbbed and bleed, and by the time Rachel snapped back up, she received another blow just like the first. And another. And another. And another. She had been hit so many times her head spun and she ached, so, so much.

"N-no…" she moaned. "P-please…don't…"

"'Ey, Jeb," said the boy on top of her. "Give me that blade!" It was tossed into the air, and the fifth boy caught it.

"Cut 'er up good, Chet!" One of them instructed. And, though Rachel struggled against him with all her might, Chet cut slashes across her wrists, all the while whoops and shrieks of approval were yowled out by the other four boys. She tried to scream, but if she did, another punch met her face.

"You don't wanna fight, beautiful…" said one of the two boys holding her down by her arms – either Axel or Fabio. "It's too late for that. You can't fight no more, ya' hear?"

"No more fighting. No more," continued Trench. "It's not worth it. There's nothing you can do now."

"Yeah, they're right." Chet, the one who straddled her to the ground, finished. "You're _ours _now."

"Rip 'er clothes off, Chet!" Jeb yowled from somewhere Rachel could not see. Chet did as he was told, and soon Rachel was completely defenseless against them. They were right – there was nothing she could do now. She really was _theirs _now: completely and totally at their mercy – and, unfortunately, they had none. They had their way with her. All of five of them. And then, they left her in the snow: bruised, bleeding, and broken.

So, so _broken._

"I lost my virginity to a rapist," Marley cried into her shoulder, once she had awoken the next morning.

"I know." Rachel breathed. "So did I."


	3. The Triborough Bridge

**I wanted to thank a Guest who reviewed with a note about my other Glee story, **_**Crazy Is Perfect**_**. Thank you, and please know that a new update is on the way! Remember to review. Thanks and enjoy.**

"_You get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothin' can touch you..."_ – S.E. Hinton, _The Outsiders_

_Chapter Two_

"I…I just…" Marley continued to weep. "I want to go away from here. Far, _far _away, where this place – this whole _world _– doesn't even exist!"

"Marley Rose," Rachel said sternly. "What have I been trying to tell you for months now?" Marley continued to cry, so the dark-eyed girl slapped her across the face. "You better get tough, Marley," she continued. "You understand? Where we are, things like this – what happened to you and me – they just _happen_. That's it. End of story. And if you sit here, crying about it, you're letting yourself be a victim. You're letting yourself be an easy target. Do you _want _to get raped again? _Do ya'_?"

"_No_!" Marley responded as coldly and toughly as she could, trying not to shake from the horrific thought.

"That's right!" Rachel added. "So why are you crying about it? Why aren't you doing something to change it? Stop crying, right now. I don't wanna see you cry any more, okay? No more crying. You get tough, okay? You get _tough_! If you're tough like me, they leave you alone. I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you again. I think it's time you started carrying a blade on you. How old are you now, fourteen?"

"Yeah," the other girl responded. "Fourteen."

"I started carrying a blade when I was thirteen," she told her, and whipped a small switchblade out of her jeans pocket. "Here – this is yours now, okay? Please promise me, that if you need to, you'll use it. Just promise me that you'll never let anything like what happened to you last night _ever happen again_. Understand me?"

"Yes," she nodded, and held the blade in her hand, studying it.

"I…I don't want anything to happen to you, Marley," Rachel looked away from her, trying her best to remain cold and tough and unfeeling. "Please promise me you'll get tough, okay? Because if anything ever happened to you…I'd…"

"I know, Rach," Marley whimpered, her too trying with her best effort to remain unfazed. "If anything ever happened to you…I love you, Rach. You're just…you know the score."

"I…I…" but Rachel couldn't say those words aloud, so she swallowed hard and settled for: "Yeah, you too, Marl. You know the score."

They wanted to hug – to hold each other and never let go, guarding each other from the cruel life that waited for them – but that would not be the tough, or cold, or unfeeling thing to do: so they gazed at each other for a moment, gazed-over eyes on innocent ones, and then simply got up from where they sat, and left each other's presence.

Rachel walked out of the orphanage's old, creaky door and into the light of that warm Bronx morning. She felt her right hand around in her pocket, making sure that she had another blade on her – she could _never _go out without a blade on her. The barrio could be a dangerous place – she knew that all too well. From age thirteen to, well, right now, Rachel had been in the game. The game, that is, of playing defense every second of every day, and playing offence whenever need be. She didn't want this for Marley, she thought as she climbed up a rickety, metal fence. Swinging one leg over the side, sitting on the top of it as if the fence were a horse, Rachel looked out over what she could see – from this high point, she could see pretty much all of The Bronx below her: all of the different neighborhoods and territories, so close together, but separated by so much at the same time. If she really looked into the horizon, Rachel could faintly see the Manhattan skyline, and the Triborough Bridge which connected them. She tried as hard as she could to genuinely smile, but all she could muster up was a faint smirk. The Triborough connected The Bronx, Queens, and Manhattan together. _God_, she thought. _Manhattan. Manhattan, Manhattan, Manhattan_… Rachel shook herself and closed her eyes. The bridge was so close. _She _was so close. So close, but so far. She'd never get over the bridge. No matter how hard she dreamed, she knew – she'd never get over the bridge. Without knowing it, the Triborough Bridge not only connected the three New York boroughs, but divided them just as well.

_I'll never get over the bridge._

She let herself think – if only for just a moment – of all the glorious things Manhattan held. Manhattan had Broadway, the center of all forms of performance, the heart of all true performing artists. Manhattan had people, successful New Yorkers who didn't have to carry blades around with them whenever they went out. Manhattan had everything she could ever dream of – and as she watched the sun rise over the East River, Rachel let herself believe that her current place in the world didn't matter. She let herself believe that even a poor, orphaned, street-rat-of-a-girl could make it on Broadway – she could sing, and dance, and act, and bring the audience to their feet. She could meet a nice guy, and get married on a rooftop overlooking all five New York boroughs, and they could adopt Marley Rose so they could all live together, in a big penthouse apartment. She and her husband could have a whole bunch of kids, and she could tell them stories of a time where she was nothing but a street-rat, but make sure they knew that if you believe in yourself, you can do anything…

Rachel spat towards the ground below her, hearing the saliva hit the hard, cracked asphalt with a _pop _sort of noise. She couldn't let herself think that way. She couldn't let her guard down. The minute she did, she wasn't playing the game – only watching – and if she went back to watching, someone would drag her back into it. Rachel shook her head. _No_. No one would ever drag her into it _ever again_ – only she would do the dragging now. That's why Marley had to get in the game – if she kept on watching, Rachel figured, she'd been out of the game entirely: she'd _loose_. And here, in this part of The Bronx, there were so many things that someone who wasn't playing the game could loose…

"'Ey! Rach!" A voice from down below the fence called. Rachel looked down to see the scarred face of Spot, one of the members of her gang. Rachel's gang, the Wolves, was just one of the many organized gangs in her neighborhood. It was made up of seven boys and five girls, including Rachel and Marley, who stuck together. _That's the score_, she thought. _Stick together. Get tough. Nobody can hurt you. Nobody will ever hurt me – not ever again_…

"Hey, Spot," she said as coyly as she could, and climbed down from the fence.

"What were you doin' up there?" Spot asked her.

"Nothin'," Rachel said. "And you best mind your own business, Spot-y-boy, or I'll give you some more scars to go with the ones you already got on your face! You want that?"

"No! No, Rach, I ain't lookin' for trouble!" Spot yowled. "Just passin' on some information. Make sure the word gets out to the rest of the Wolves – there's gonna be a rumble tomorrow night, by the train station…"

"Against who?"

"The Goblins," he told her, and Rachel double-checked that her blade was still in her pocket – the Goblins were their rival gang, and a rumble against them was sure to be messy.

"I'll pass the word to the guys at Chamberlin," she responded. "Tomorrow night? By the train station?"

"Yeah," Spot affirmed. "Under the titled streetlight."

"I'll be there," Rachel nodded in confirmation, and shortly after Spot walked away, heading to tell other members of their gang. The brunette leaned up against the fence, and slammed her fist into it as hard as she could.

"Fuck," she cursed. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Fuck this place! Fuck my life! Fuck – "

But then she stopped herself, with one last look at the bridge. She had to get back into the game. She had to be tough, and hard, and unfazed by anything. She _had _to be – there was no other choice if she wanted to survive.

"Fuck the Triborough Bridge!"


	4. I've Seen You

**I'm really glad Glee's back! I love Marley! And ship Jarley! And I still love Rachel as always! :) Fair warning: this chapter is very dark – this is a darker story anyway, but there'll be chapters like this one, which are especially dark. Just warning you. Anyway, remember to review. Thanks and enjoy.**

"_Maybe she sat here in the cacophonous darkness and felt some kind of desperation take her over, and maybe she found it impossible to unthink the thought of death." _– John Green, _Paper Towns_

_Chapter Three_

Marley sat on the hard, concrete-paved ground of the back alley, with her back up against the rickety, metal fence and her knees pressed together, hugged to her chest. With the rustic, crisp taste of fall on the New York wind, the air was getting cooler, the days were getting shorter, and the weather was getting colder – and, with it, went her singing spirit. Marley Rose was born with a special sort of twinkle in her eye, magic in her throat, song in her heart. This was simply what she was born with, the way Rachel had been born with zealous determination. And, in a similar way to which Rachel's enthusiasm and happiness was buried under a torrent of numbness and turned to grit, Marley's sweetness and timid personality was being altered into something completely different.

Marley held Rachel's switchblade in her right hand strongly and with a sudden tenseness, as if she were about to attack or be attacked. She arched her back into the metal of the fence more, looking as if she were slouching over. She studied the blade just as she had when Rachel had given it to her – it was an older blade; a small one, with many little chips in the rusted, red handle. She took a breath and turned her left wrist so that the spattering of the veins that made up her pulse was protuberant and sticking up towards her. Marley slashed the knife across her wrist for the first time, wincing at the rush of pain – but then, a strange, cold sort of feeling took hold of her entire body. She could not explain it, and did not know what it was exactly, but something in her told her that the feeling was good. Something in her told her that the _cutting _was good.

_Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements_

_Even if it leads nowhere?_

_Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place_

_Should I leave it there?_

_Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements_

_Even if it leads nowhere?_

Marley figured, if she was going to die on the streets some day, it would be better for her to take herself out of the world than for someone else to do it. She didn't want to be a victim. She didn't want to be just another mugging, just another rape, just another killing for some drunk hood on the street, or some crazy homeless person, or a group of gang members with nothing better to do. She didn't want to be some faceless, nameless death. There was so many deaths on these streets every single day, some many lives so easily forgotten…

"Marley, c'mere!" Rachel's voice called as she approached her. Marley hid her now-bleeding wrist behind her back and flicked her blade closed, slipping it back into her pocket. "We're goin' to meet up with the rest of the gang. There's gonna be a rumble tomorrow night – c'mon!"

She followed Rachel down to the square where she and the rest of the Wolves usually met. On the inside, she was changed now. As if a thick, endless snow of hopeless sorrow had built up and festered in her heart: Marley heart and happiness had given up; the hope and light in her soul had yielded to the blackness around her. She took a deep breath, however, and continued to go through the motions of her life, just as Rachel did and kept on doing, every single day. The Wolves were made up of the type individuals that would only be seen on a street corner, Marley figured. They weren't like the other kids at school. The fraction of the twelve members that were still in school – this was only four of the twelve, including Marley herself, but not including Rachel – didn't participate in school clubs or sports, they didn't go to football games or hang out on the high school's campus after classes got out. Marley, like the other three Wolves who had stayed in school, preferred to keep to themselves during the school day. No one exactly rushed to be their friends or sit with them at lunch. The other kids weren't blind – they knew the side of the neighborhood that Marley and the others came from…

The Wolves were made up of Rachel, who was the undisputed leader of the gang, Spot, her right-hand man, Chicago, who got her nickname from the first city she lived in, Ace, Rainy-day, Jack, Sherrie, Maria, Jordan, T-Rex, Zack, Asap, and Johnny. Some of them had nicknames, like Asap and Rainy-day, to make them seem tougher, and some, like Rachel and Marley, went by their regular names. They didn't see a point in changing them – they would be slapped with the way of the gang and the street either way. They met by the square and slumped a little ways over to the tilted streetlight by the train station, and planned their attack. Rachel went over who would fight who, when they would use blades and when they would use fists, and everything that she always went over before a rumble – by now, she considered it to be protocol, especially when they were planning on taking on the Goblins, their arch rivals. It was then when, out of the corner of her eye, Marley saw a hooded figure climb over the fence – slipping away from the gang, she followed the figure, and quickly caught up to him.

"Hey!" She yelled. "I know what you were trying to do! Don't think I wasn't!" The boy turned around, and removed his black hood – he was, in Marley's eyes, extremely handsome. He had smooth, mocha skin, dark chocolate eyes, toned mussels, and a cocky, street-wise smile.

"Oh yeah?" He taunted. "And what was that?"

"You were trying to spy on us!" Marley continued, stalking closer to him. "You're a Goblin, aren't you?"

"That I am," he said. "And _you're_ a Wolf, aren't you?"

"That I am," she murmured. "Haven't…haven't I seen you at school?"

"Probably," he smiled now. "I've seen you. I'm Jake. Jake Puckerman."

"Marley," she introduced herself. "Marley Rose."

"I know," Jake responded. "I've seen you."

"What…what time is it?" Marley suddenly asked.

"Must be about four," he shrugged. "Why?"

"The gang's disbanding at five," she said. "I have to be back to the square by five with them. I just…I thought it was later."

"Then…will you with me? I can take you back to my place – I've got a hot shower, good food. I mean, I know you live at the orphanage and – "

" – And that would make you assume that I need your help?" She sneered. "I _don't_ need your help, Jake. I don't need anyone's help."

"I wasn't assuming," Jake said calmly. "I was offering."

"I didn't ask you too."

"I know." He said. "I know. I've seen you."


End file.
